


Genuflection

by kyrilu



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1900545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fugitive Matthew Brown confronts Will Graham in a church.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Genuflection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yllucs](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=yllucs).



> For [yllucs](http://yllucs.tumblr.com/), who asked for angsty brownham. <3
> 
> (It was nice meeting you, dude! I adore that art you drew for me so much.)

There is a crucifix above the altar: the son of God with his arms stretched and his head bowed onto his shoulder. It is night time. In the church, candlelight flickers across the altar, across the empty pews, and Matthew can see his own orange-lit shadow cast on the tiled ground.

He wonders whether he should wait for Will Graham in the confessional booth for the imagery of it. But the crucifix above the altar is imagery enough - it recalls his attempted hanging of Hannibal Lecter, who is rather more like the devil than Judas.

“Matthew.”

Graham’s here already. Matthew doesn’t turn, doesn’t raise his hands in surrender, even though he can see Will’s gun in his peripheral vision. Instead, he genuflects, sardonically, slowly, keeping his gaze to the front of the church. His back to Graham.

“Shouldn’t you have other fugitives to concern yourself with, Mr. Graham?” he says, when Graham doesn’t advance.

Graham says, “Turn around, Matthew.”

He can feel the metal point digging into the fabric of his jacket. He only smiles, and says, “Let me go, Mr. Graham. It feels the same, doesn’t it? The moment when I released my grip on you in front of the cage. The moment when I went out and tried to become your avenger. Let me go. It’s only fair.”

“You killed that bailiff,” Graham says, and the metal digs deeper. “You blew up his house.”

“I didn’t hear any of these objections when you ordered me to kill.”

Matthew can still see the shaky curve of a smile, the brightness in his eyes: _Kill Hannibal Lecter._ He gestures forward - and Graham stiffens, as if he’s expecting Matthew to fight - but it’s only a wave of his hand toward the crucifix.

“And besides,” Matthew murmurs, “I told them that you didn’t tell me to do anything. Murder by proxy.”

Graham’s gun makes a stuttered arc on Matthew’s back. It almost feels like a caress. “I don’t - you have to go back. I have a responsibility for whatever hold I have - or had - over you. Murder is not about being a bird in the sky, Matthew. I know what murder is.”

“Birds are hunters, beasts of the wild,” Matthew says. “And in your Dr. Lecter’s case, so are snakes.”

Graham laughs, a bark-like sound, rough and coarse. “Men make murder, Matthew. They make it, and I’ve done it myself, and it’s always in my head.”

And now Matthew turns. Raises his arms, like he did before Hannibal Lecter at the noose, and he tilts his head. The crucifix is rising behind him and this - this is a surrender.

“Bird are free,” Matthew says, and lays out the choice between them. “Let me go.”

The candles are still flickering, yellow-orange. The moonlight from outside clashes with it, blue beams through stained glass.

He can hear Graham’s breath. He can see Graham’s eyes. They are not in their cages any more. Maybe Matthew should have gone into the confessional after all. Maybe it would have started differently, fingers touching through the screen.

“I can’t,” Graham says, a whisper. “Not another one. Not again.”

Slowly, Matthew lowers his arms. So Will Graham has chosen. Graham and his sense of justice. Matthew sinks to his knees, and it’s just another genuflection, but this time, his back is to the altar.

He will return to his cage, and think of the sky. He will think of the genuine regret in Will Graham’s eyes, how his hands shook, and how the candlelight looked like sparks of fire contrasting with colored glass.

 


End file.
